


transit

by gotchick, pinkfen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Bands, Best Friends to Lovers, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Coming of Age, Crushes, Fluff and Humor, Growing Up Together, Lee Jeno is Whipped, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Photographer Na Jaemin, Slow Burn, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Travel, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26989324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotchick/pseuds/gotchick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkfen/pseuds/pinkfen
Summary: Jeno meets Jaemin when they are seven.(Updated with side story Caramel Macchiato Days: 'In his last year of high school, Donghyuck joins a band and falls in love with his best friend.')
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 210





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caprxxcorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprxxcorn/gifts), [starwreck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwreck/gifts).



> i didn’t plan to rework any other of my got7 fics for nct, but this is a relatively unseen one as it’s only ever been posted in a members-locked livejournal community and i doubt most of my got7 readers have read it either. this is even older than 7 days a week - written in june 2014, as i recall - so again im super embarrassed by how childish and outdated the style is, but at the same time it’s a real throwback and time capsule for me as it’s one of the few pieces of my old writing i’ve always looked back fondly on, and holds much nostalgia for me… so i guess i wanted to post it on ao3 in some form. despite the fact that there may be some character discrepancies, i think after replacing jeno and jaemin into the story and trying my best to edit what I could, it actually flowed pretty well and i hope you can enjoy it as a relic of mine despite the flaws, maybe :)
> 
> this is dedicated to my two favourite nomin stans ;3 idk if you’ll like it, but i just really wanted to dedicate something to you both hehe

Jeno meets Jaemin when they are seven, in the sitting room of Jaemin’s immense, grandiose mansion as his father’s business partner, Mr Na, smiles and introduces, “This is my son, Jaemin. He’s the same age as you.”

Jaemin shrugs out of his father’s grasp and scowls, his eyes glowering like a cornered animal’s. Jeno feels the pressure of his father’s hand on his shoulder and gulps. “I-I’m Jeno,” he squeaks, and flinches at the smirk that curls the corners of Jaemin’s lips up.

 _Loser_. He’s the only one who seems to hear that word, loud and clear, spelled out across Jaemin’s eyes as they narrow and sweep over him dismissively. Their fathers laugh heartily, pleased by the formation of this perfect friendship, and Mr Na says with warmth, “Why don’t you show Jeno your new Playstation, Jaeminie? Mr Lee and I have some work to discuss.”

The foul look on Jaemin’s face suggests that he would rather show Jeno where to stuff himself, but he doesn’t retort and instead stands and trots out of the living room. Jeno’s father grins with satisfaction and claps his back. “Well, what are you waiting for? Follow Jaemin!”

Jeno obediently trails after Jaemin’s retreating steps. He follows him down a corridor of closed doors tiled with gleaming marble, until they reach the end. Jaemin pushes the last door open, the morning sun flooding into the dark corridor, and Jeno peers in, temporarily blinded by the expanse of summer sky outside the floor-length windows.

Jaemin is watching his reaction, curiously eager and Jeno feels obligated to make some ingratiating remark. His mind is momentarily blank, unable to think of anything to say, but as he steps into the room his feet sink about an inch into the red velvet carpet, it’s so soft and thick. His mouth falls open as he takes in the size of Jaemin’s bedroom, with a stately canopy bed taking up the center and minimalistic but obviously tasteful furniture and gadgets lined against the walls. It looks too spotless, too organized to be the room of a seven-year-old boy, and Jeno feels an odd rush of pity for Jaemin. He spots the aforementioned Playstation by the wall, and bites his lip as he imagines Jaemin’s look of disbelieving condescension when he finds out Jeno actually sucks at video games, and isn’t even interested in them.

Jaemin seems satisfied with his reaction, a glint of smugness in his eyes as he throws himself lazily into a beanbag chair and crosses his legs, not bothering to invite Jeno to sit down. Jeno hovers and shifts in the centre of the room, avoiding Jaemin’s amused gaze. After a few minutes of silence have passed and Jaemin doesn’t seem to have any intention of speaking, Jeno clears his throat and pipes up, “Aren’t you going to show me your Playstation?”

For a moment he’s afraid Jaemin won’t reply, but then he hears a scornful snort. “No,” Jaemin drawls, speaking for the first time. “That’s for babies.” He stifles a yawn.

Jeno is secretly relieved his pathetic video game skills won’t be exposed, and surprised he actually has something in common with this pale, dark-eyed unsmiling brat. Not that he will ever let Jaemin know if he can help it. So he tries to look disappointed and shrugs. “So... what do you like to do?”

There is another loaded pause, before Jaemin says simply, “Photography.” The single word sounds as careless as any of his others, but there’s a pride in it, a passion that Jeno can detect, that tells him this is something important to Jaemin. So he takes a deep breath and raises his eyes to meet Jaemin’s impenetrable ones, and asks, “Can you show me?”

The smile which lights up Jaemin’s eyes tells him that he has said the right thing, that this is the question Jaemin was hoping for. He rolls his eyes, muttering, “What a drag,” but gets to his feet and heads for the closet, opening it and withdrawing a Polaroid camera. Jeno watches, enraptured as Jaemin bends to capture the scenery outside.

When he sees the photograph, Jeno finds himself seal clapping, holding his breath. “That was awesome!” he gushes, before realizing himself and blushing. Jaemin’s lips curl breathlessly, and he doesn’t say anything but there’s a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

A few months later, their fathers officially establish their new business, Na & Lee Enterprises, and uproot their families from Incheon to Los Angeles, California to set it up. Their parents make Jeno sit beside Jaemin in the plane, where Jaemin spends the flight sulking out of the window and scowling at the air stewardesses who coo over them and try to ply them with kids’ toys.

When they reach the Los Angeles international airport, Jeno blinks awake and staggers to his feet. Beside him, Jaemin has fallen asleep, his eyelashes unexpectedly long and delicate in slumber. Jaemin’s father scoops him up into his arms and Jeno’s mother takes his hand as they disembark the plane and step into the biting Californian night.

Their fathers purchase houses in the same neighbourhood and enrol them in the local elementary school. Jeno gets used to waking up to the sound of Jaemin’s scooter as he zooms past his house every morning on the way to school. He finds Jaemin idling outside, balancing impatiently on the wheels, his face screwed up in his perpetual frown. Jeno knows if not for their parents, Jaemin wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. But Jaemin is amusingly docile in front of the adults, breaking into an angelic smile when Jeno’s mother bustles out in her apron and fusses over him, insisting they both come back into the house for breakfast before leaving.

After scarfing down toast and gulping glasses of milk, they get back on their scooters and speed towards school, breathlessly late. As they fly down the sidewalk, the wind rushing by Jeno’s ears and the sunrise dyeing the clouds salmon hues, he watches Jaemin’s scarf streaming behind him and weaves after him along the path he blazes through the meandering students as they near the school.

Since no one can speak their language, they officially change their vernacular to English. But at home, their parents still converse in a mix of Korean and dialects, which Jeno and Jaemin start becoming increasingly rusty in as they immerse themselves in Western culture. Because they’re the same age, they spend more time together than their older siblings who are in high school and too haughty to bother with them.

By the time they enter middle school, Jeno and Jaemin are nearly fluent in English and communicate comfortably with it, exchanging grins at their mothers’ stern admonishments to “Use Korean at home!” In a bizarre turn of events, they have also become inseparable. Their parents shake their heads knowingly and said they knew this would happen from the very first day, but Jeno is mystified. He’s never had a best friend before, but he never expected his first and only best friend would be someone like Jaemin - loud and rebellious and aloof, the polar opposite of Jeno.

More precisely, he never imagined someone as confident as Jaemin would give him the time of the day, and suspects that if they were still in Korea he wouldn’t. They’re like oil and water, impossible to mix, and Jaemin is still an insufferable snobby brat, but there are undeniable similarities between them, like the way they sometimes struggle between English and Korean; the way unlike other boys their age, they would prefer to practice hoverboarding than pound at the Xbox or Wii. When Jeno had finally admitted to Jaemin that he hated video games (mostly because he sucked at them), he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the mocking that was sure to come. Instead, when he peeked through his eyelashes, Jaemin was biting back a smile, scoffing, “You loser.” But the word had none of the sting as the unsaid one that first day.

They ditch the graduation ceremony on the last day of middle school, sneaking out of the compound through the deserted, open field at the back. It’s an unseasonably warm day in early winter, the weak November sun glinting from behind the clouds and their breath fogging up in puffs as they laugh breathlessly and sprint across the field. When they reach a grassy slope out of sight of the school, Jaemin throws his bag down and flings himself onto the grass, pillowing his head on his hands. Jeno settles down beside him and exhales as he lies back, staring up at the endless blue sky and feeling the stress seep out of him.

His eyes drift closed and pop open a few minutes later when he smells smoke. He nearly chokes when he sees Jaemin casually lighting up a cigarette and raising it to his mouth, preparing to inhale. Jeno snatches it out of his fingers just before he does, glowing embers crumbling off the tip.

“What the -” Jaemin growls, eyes narrowing as he levels his signature glare at Jeno. Even after so many years, it never fails to make Jeno tremble, but he bravely stares back in defiance and states sternly, “You’re not legal.”

“No one cares,” Jaemin scoffs as he tries to reach for the cigarette, but Jeno holds it high out of his grasp. Jaemin’s reflexes are quick as lightning, but Jeno isn’t shabby himself, deftly eluding Jaemin’s nimble hands as he tackles Jeno and pins him to the ground. He shoves Jaemin off, nearly setting his own hair on fire.

Jaemin lets out a strangled noise of frustration. “Give that back right now, Jeno Lee, or I swear –”

“It’s not good for your health,” Jeno interjects.

Jaemin falls silent at this, cursing under his breath. Resorting to desperate measures, he puffs his cheeks into a pout. “Please?”

Jeno resists the urge to gag. “I just want to try one,” Jaemin says in a small voice. “It’s one of the things on my bucket list.”

This draws Jeno’s attention. “Bucket list?”

Jaemin nods eagerly, seeing him wavering. “Smoking a cigarette before I’m legal. It’s number five,” he says.

Jeno studies him with interest. “What are the first four?”

Jaemin blushes, unnaturally shy. “Nothing much, really... Just stuff like, y’know, winning an award...”

Jeno can’t hide his impressed whistle. “That’s some bucket list.”

“Shut up.” Jaemin lowers his eyes, embarrassed. “At least let me accomplish number five,” he whines.

“Fine.” Jeno reluctantly gives in, and Jaemin cheers. Their eyes fall on the cigarette in Jeno’s hand, only to find it reduced to an ashy stump. Jaemin wails in dismay.

Alarmed, Jeno clumsily pats his back. “Sorry, I’ll buy you another one, okay?” he pleads.

“You don’t understand!” Jaemin bursts out, eyes shooting daggers. “Do you know what I went through to get that?"

With the passage of the years, Na & Lee Enterprises flourishes rapidly, and a month after Jeno’s fifteenth birthday their fathers gently break the news to them that they will be leaving sunny Los Angeles to open a branch office in Hong Kong, maybe for good. Jeno meets Jaemin’s panicked eyes across the table. Jaemin’s are brimming with misty tears, and Jeno swallows hard over the lump in his throat. America has become home, even more than Korea ever was in some ways. It was here that he learned English, that he forged his first real friendship, that he grew into teenagehood and spent some of the happiest years of his life so far. His chin trembles uncontrollably and he bites his lip because he knows that at the slightest provocation Jaemin is going to lose it and burst out either bawling or shouting. He must not be doing a very good job because his mother takes one look at him and envelops him in her arms. “Oh honey, it’s going to be okay. Hong Kong is going to be wonderful.”

The only, scant comfort he can find in this tragic situation is that Jaemin is coming along. Jeno has no idea what he would do if he had to make this enormous move alone, leaving behind his entire life and starting all over again in a new, foreign land. With Jaemin beside him, Jeno feels like he’s carrying a part of Korea and LA along, the common memories rushing back when he catches Jaemin’s eyes or hears his voice.

They are subdued and sullen as they huddle in the departure terminal of the Los Angeles international airport, recalling memories from when they were barely seven and didn’t speak a word of English, alone and cold in a dauntingly foreign country but filled with hopes and dreams for the future. And just like that, Jeno knows that when they reach Hong Kong, they will be equally hopeful. He knows that just like behind them, ahead of them lies happiness they can’t even imagine, a stretch of carefree years spent playing and laughing and growing up together with Jaemin, growing into adulthood. They will stumble over Cantonese words together, trying to wrap their tongues around the vowels just like they did with English. They will enrol in a new school and feel displaced at first but eventually, gradually fit in. They will meet other people, other friends, but Jeno is suddenly, inexplicably certain of one thing - there will never be anyone else like Jaemin. Together, they’ve crossed two continents and oceans, and they’re inextricably tied to each other now.

Jaemin throws himself into photography with renewed passion when they reach Hong Kong. Jeno watches and worries, that Jaemin is pushing himself too hard, overworking his body and neglecting his health.

He starts being more athletic too, joins an intermediate class in martial arts and hangs a punching bag from the ceiling of his room, venting his frustrations on it whenever he thinks of how powerless and impotent he is to help Jaemin and how infuriatingly stubborn and proud Jaemin is.

Sometimes, he dreams that Jaemin is meek and subservient, smiling sweetly as he says “Yes, Jeno hyung,” and “As you wish, Jeno hyung.” But then he wakes up and feels relieved for reality because Jaemin wouldn’t be Jaemin if he weren’t feisty and coarse, impish smile crooked and boyish, eyes glinting as he plots mischief. Other times, he wakes up with his underwear sticky and damp, heart racing and unable to calm down until he’s done a hundred punches.

On the day Jaemin’s mentor tells him he’s been selected to represent their country in one of the biggest annual photography competitions, Jaemin runs all the way home. Jeno is the first person he tells, and the moment Jeno makes sense of the words Jaemin is blubbering he sweeps Jaemin off his feet and spins him around. Jaemin is laughing and hitting Jeno, screaming for him to put him down, but when Jeno sets him back on his feet Jaemin picks him up and spins him around until he’s dizzy and about to puke.

On the day Jaemin wins first place, both their families are in attendance, bursting with pride and shrieking Jaemin’s name embarrassingly loudly. Every single one of them cries when Jaemin tears up, including Jeno. He feels like he’s the one on that international stage, lifting the certificate to his lips and kissing it, bowing as the standing ovation lifts him to the skies.

They’re seventeen when their fathers announce their next move, and less caught by surprise than the previous time, but it’s still disorienting. It’s barely been three years in Hong Kong, and their neighbouring beachfront terraces on Causeway Bay are just starting to feel like home. Jeno already knows he will miss the dense, polluted air in Hong Kong, the commutes on the packed MTR to Tsim Sha Tsui, Macau and Ocean Park and the delicacies of Portuguese egg tarts and crispy duck skin unique to the country.

“Can’t we finish high school here?” Jaemin pleads hopefully. “I could rent an apartment with Jeno -”

“I’m sorry, Jaeminie,” his father replies regretfully. “We want to live together as a family. I thought you’d be happy that our business is expanding,” he adds, looking slightly injured.

“I’m happy!” Jaemin protests, as always the adults’ favourite. “It’s just -“ he breaks off, shooting a helpless glance at Jeno.

“Uh...” Jeno quickly says. “I’ll take care of him,” he blurts out, hoping he sounds mature and reliable.

Jeno’s father chuckles. “Son, you can hardly take care of yourself,” he jokes, and the adults titter along. Jaemin rolls his eyes, and Jeno doesn’t see what’s so funny either. “Maybe when you grow up, okay?” his mother says placatingly, and Jeno bumps Jaemin’s knee under the table apologetically. Jaemin bumps back but doesn’t meet his eyes, staring down at his food.

Days later, their parents drop the next bomb. They’re moving to Seoul, Korea.

Jaemin loses his composure this time. “What the hell?” he hisses. “We can’t speak a word of Korean anymore!”

His father laughs, unperturbed, and whips out a bag from Borders. When they open it, they find two books entitled _Korean for Beginners_.

Jaemin stares at his book, stupefied, before flinging it childishly on the ground and stomping to his room, slamming the door.

An oppressive silence descends on the sitting room as the adults exchange anxious looks. Jeno rises to his role of peacemaker. “I’ll go talk to him,” he says, and their parents look relieved. Jeno drags his feet towards Jaemin’s room. He wants to be around Jaemin when he’s in a foul mood as little as anyone else.

Jeno raps on the door with his knuckles. “Jaemin? Can I come in?”

There is no answer. He tries the doorknob, finding it unlocked. He holds his breath as he ventures in, and finds Jaemin slumped before his closet, clutching his certificate to his chest. Jeno’s own chest clenches as if someone is closing a fist around it, and he approaches Jaemin cautiously. “Jaem? Are you okay?”

When Jaemin turns, Jeno softens to see no anger in his face, only defeat and sorrow. “I’m sick of this,” Jaemin mutters, fingers twisting on the cert. “I won’t do it anymore.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything, knowing that when Jaemin sets his mind on something no one can change it. Instead, he unravels Jaemin’s tightly curled fingers from around the paper. “You’ll spoil it,” he whispers, and as he holds Jaemin’s hands gently in both his own, tears track down Jaemin’s cheeks.

Before Jeno realizes it, Jaemin’s fingers are fisting in his shirt, his face dampening Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno places an awkward hand on Jaemin’s back and strokes it until Jaemin’s body stops racking with sobs.

Jeno knows that for Jaemin, Hong Kong is a place which holds a special significance, even more so than for himself. Hong Kong was where Jaemin’s dream of winning an award came true, where he made their country and families proud for the first time. Hong Kong was where Jaemin found his true self, and the greatest happiness. Out of all of them, Jaemin had always been the one most fluent in Cantonese, fitting in effortlessly with the locals.

“Cheer up, dude,” Jeno says lamely. “I heard the chicks in Korea are really hot.”

Jaemin’s head remains bent, and Jeno prepares to be chewed out or snickered at. But then Jaemin peers up at Jeno through his eyelashes, and cracks a weak smile. “Man,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m going to _suck_ at Korean."

Jeno falls asleep somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, between Hong Kong and Korea, and when he wakes up Jaemin is asleep too, his head lolling onto Jeno’s shoulder. Jeno freezes, trying his best not to shift and wake him. He remains in that position until they land and Jaemin blinks awake, yawning and pushing his hair back. Jeno’s shoulder is numb, seeming to have developed a cramp. Jaemin is peering out of the airplane window, the city lights of Seoul reflected in his eyes. “Wow,” he breathes, half-smiling wryly at Jeno. “This is crazy.” Jeno hums in weak response.

Since they arrive in Korea during the summer vacation, their parents enrol them in last-minute Korean classes before the school term starts. At the cram school, they meet a kid called Jisung who is ecstatic to find out he will be attending the same school as them as a freshman, but crestfallen when he discovers they are seniors.

“We’ll look out for you,” Jeno promises, because Jisung looks like a sad puppy. He lights up. “Really? Thanks, Jeno hyung!”

Jaemin pinches Jisung’s chubby cheeks. “Don’t get too cocky, _dongsaeng_ ," he says in halting Korean, but Jeno can tell he’s just teasing.

Jisung proves to be a whiz at Korean, agreeably explaining phrases that stump them until they get it. Jaemin takes advantage of his innocence, bullying him into helping him do his homework, but Jisung is so eager-to-please he doesn’t mind. Jaemin complained that he would be awful at Korean, but Jeno finds something indescribably charming about his newly rediscovered Korean, the way he picks every word carefully, the way he sometimes pronounces words wrong and turns them into a different, sometimes unintentionally funny meaning.

By the time semester begins, they are able to converse in disjointed, simple sentences, and practice with each other in an indecipherable mix of Korean and English only they can comprehend. They are dismayed to be assigned to different classes, and Jaemin looks like he’s about to pitch a fit in the admissions office.

Jeno shuffles into class with his head bent, feeling the weight of speculative stares and the hush that falls on his arrival. Luckily, the teacher assigns one of the students to show him around and sit next to him. His name is Renjun and he has a friendly, mischievous smile that instantly puts Jeno at ease.

At lunch, Jeno gets lost on the way to the cafeteria. When he finally locates it, he finds Jaemin already sitting with Jisung and scarfing down a bowl of spicy-looking kimchi soup. He gasps, fanning himself, and Jisung promptly cracks open a can of Coke and lifts it to his lips. Jaemin slurps until the can is empty, then bangs it down, his face flushed.

Jeno grimaces. “Is there anything else to eat besides that?”

Jaemin gives him a look. “What do you think?”

“It’s not that bad,” Jisung chimes in helpfully. “Other dishes are way spicier.”

Jeno sighs and grabs an extra bottle of water along with his tray.

Before they left for Korea, Jaemin had confided in Jeno the latest goal on his bucket list. It had been the only thing Jaemin had been consistently dedicated to throughout the years, and Jeno felt flattered whenever one of Jaemin’s goals involved him. “I didn’t know we were going to Korea, or I would have done it earlier,” Jaemin said despondently, but Jeno waved away his worries. “Never mind, we can do it there. I’ll help you.”

“Promise?” Jaemin brightened a little, looking impossibly hopeful.

Jeno hooked their pinky fingers together. “Promise."

When he gets to the cafeteria one afternoon, he finds Jaemin and Jisung with their heads huddled together, deep in animated discussion. He shakes his head in amusement as he approaches with his tray, but his smile fades when he hears a snatch of their conversation.

Jeno slams down his tray on the table louder than he meant to, making Jisung jump, his eyes wide and Jaemin look up, frowning in annoyance. “What’s your problem?” he raises an eyebrow, and Jeno grits his teeth and grabs Jaemin’s wrist, hauling him out of his seat and dragging him out of the cafeteria.

“Ow... that freaking hurts! What’s wrong with you?” Jaemin shakes him off, rubbing his wrist and glaring at Jeno.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jeno repeats, his voice shrill. “What’s wrong with you? Why did you tell Jisung about the band thing? I thought it was a secret.” He folds his arms, staring at Jaemin accusatorily.

Jaemin looks bored. “Didn’t I tell you too?” he points out. Jeno opens his mouth, realizing that that’s actually the problem - he had thought he was special, that he was Jaemin’s sole confidant. “Oh, I see,” Jaemin says coolly. “Are you jealous?” His voice is mild but there’s a glitter of something mocking in his eyes.

“I am not!” Jeno protests hotly. “You know what, I don’t give a shit. You can tell anybody you want.” He feels his face growing warm and turns on his heels to stalk away before Jaemin notices.

“Hey,” Jaemin murmurs, tugging at his sleeve and disarming him. “I’m sorry, okay? It just... slipped out while we were talking. Anyway, he said he could help.”

Jeno’s anger melts away, but he keeps his voice gruff as he turns back to face Jaemin. “Whatever,” he mutters, and pretends to be irritated when Jaemin dissolves into a smile and hooks his arm into the crook of Jeno’s elbow, leading him back to the table.

True to his word, Jisung arrives the next day with a megawatt grin and two spacy-looking guys trailing behind him with easy smiles on their faces. “This is Sungchan and Chenle,” Jisung introduces proudly. “Guys, say hi to my hyungs.”

“Hi, hyungs,” Sungchan and Chenle chorus.

“Sungchan is like, this bass god,” Jisung raves. “And Chenle won a singing contest last year.”

Sungchan scratches his head sheepishly and Chenle blushes with pleasure. “It was no big deal.”

Jeno scrutinizes them noncommittally. “Hmm,” he says. “And what about you?”

“I... uhh...” Jisung starts, his face falling when he realizes that he has no talent to brag about.

“It’s okay, Jaemin hyung will teach you how to play the guitar,” Jaemin says protectively, and Jeno’s face darkens. He hasn’t quite gotten over yesterday’s incident.

“Really?” Jisung squeals. “Jaemin hyung, you’re the best!” He throws his arms around Jaemin in a bear hug, and Jeno crushes his soda can in his hand as he watches the way Jaemin’s eyes crinkle in delight.

“Jeno!” Jeno jumps as he hears his name being hollered across the cafeteria, then Renjun is bounding up, eyes curving into happy crescents. “Sup, bro?”

Jeno had seen Renjun around school a few times, but was too shy to approach him outside of class. During lessons, Renjun was ridiculously nice, always sharing his textbooks with Jeno and reminding him that if he didn’t understand anything, he should ask him. But Jeno didn’t know if Renjun was just being kind or genuinely wanted to be friends.

But now, Jeno finds himself acting uncharacteristically as he chirps in a bubbly voice, “Renjun-ah!” He forces a bright smile, beaming up at Renjun who looks a little taken aback by his sudden chumminess. Jaemin and Jisung are looking at him like they suspect he’s been abducted by aliens. At least he managed to distract their attention from each other for a minute.

Jeno flushes in embarrassment, but is relieved when Renjun doesn’t miss a beat, draping his arms around Jeno’s neck and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “No wonder I can’t find you every day at break. So you were hiding in this corner.”

“Excuse me?” Jaemin says, his eyes on Renjun’s arms. “What do you mean by this corner? This is a very nice table, thank you very much.” He huffs and Jeno’s lip twitches as he stifles a smile.

“Who are you, anyway?” Jaemin adds, giving Renjun a disdainful once-over.

Renjun looks chastised, dropping his arms from Jeno’s shoulders. “Um... sorry I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Jeno’s seat partner.” He offers a friendly smile.

“Huh.” Jaemin purses his lips unimpressedly and sips his drink, the atmosphere turning frigid. Jeno feels bad. He hadn’t meant to goad Jaemin into being rude to Renjun, when Renjun had been nothing but sweet to him and didn’t deserve this. So he squeezes Renjun’s hand reassuringly and gets to his feet, picking up his tray. “See you tomorrow,” he mumbles to the four boys, and follows Renjun back to the classroom feeling the weight of Jaemin’s gaze on his back.

When Jeno reaches the lunch table the next day, Jaemin is presiding over the three adoring juniors, their eyes following his every move as he gestures and orates, nodding like bobbleheads. Jeno realizes grudgingly that the respect shining from their eyes is probably not merely due to Jaemin’s sheer charm, but also his vast encyclopaedic knowledge and passion for all genres of music. Jaemin’s love for hip-hop, rap and R&B is second only to his love for photography, so when Jaemin told him that forming a band was on his bucket list, Jeno hadn’t been surprised.

“So, you’re going to be the drummer, Jisung will be the guitarist and I’ll be keyboardist, Sungchan will be on bass and Chenle vocals. We still need at least two more singers,” Jaemin updates him as soon as he sits down, voice businesslike.

Jeno knits his brow. “We can hold an audition? I’ll make posters.”

“Thanks,” Jaemin says, shooting him a frazzled smile.

Later in class, Renjun leans over his shoulder to squint at the poster he's doodling on with markers. “Jeno, are you starting a band?” His eyes widen.

Jeno blushes. “Not really me... you know my friend Jaemin from yesterday? He’s kind of the leader.”

“Oh...” Renjun murmurs, looking slightly intimidated at Jaemin’s name. But he takes a deep breath and smiles. “Can I audition?”

When Jeno leads Renjun into the empty classroom they have appropriated for the audition, Jaemin eyes him sceptically. But the moment Renjun starts crooning, his mouth falls open along with all of the others’.

Renjun’s voice is deep and mellifluous, perfectly balancing the wide range of Chenle’s pitch. Jeno claps supportively as Renjun bows, looking embarrassed but pleased, and Jaemin reluctantly mutters, “Pass.”

Renjun leaps up at the word, thrilled, bouncing on the balls of his feet and high-fiving everyone until even Jaemin cracks a smile. They immediately pull up chairs and start discussing about jamming sessions, and Jeno hovers at the back, gratified that things are progressing so well.

Sometime later, Chenle excuses himself to go to the restroom, and when he comes back his eyes are curving slyly and he has a boy in tow. It’s a senior from another class Jeno and Jaemin have seen around school, one of those delinquents who always get detention. They exchange wary glances as Chenle announces smugly, “Donghyuck hyung is here for the audition!”

The boy groans, looking absolutely done. “Chenle-yah, I don’t -” The rest of his sentence is drowned out by Renjun’s harassed shout. “Lee Donghyuck, what are you doing here?”

Donghyuck does a double take as he sees Renjun. “What are _you_ doing here?” he retorts.

“What’s going on?” Jisung demands, looking confused. “How do you know Renjun hyung?” he says informally.

Donghyuck shoots him a withering glare, but replies derisively, “He’s my neighbour.”

“We’re like, childhood friends,” Renjun says sarcastically. “But generally I like to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

“Yah! Watch your words!” Donghyuck says, raising a threatening fist. Renjun sticks out his tongue, but Jeno notices that his ears are curiously red.

“Soo... why are you here?” Jaemin deadpans impatiently. Donghyuck throws his hands up, and Chenle smirks with self-satisfaction. “He owes me a favour, right hyung?” He nudges Donghyuck, who scowls but doesn’t deny.

“Just one song, you hear me? And then I’m outta here,” he warns.

They all eye him doubtfully, preparing to be unimpressed, but when Donghyuck opens his mouth, everyone’s jaw drops. Jeno looks around the room, half expecting to see a radio. It can’t be possible that the warm, husky, intoxicating voice flowing from Donghyuck’s mouth belongs to a boy with messy hair and piercings adorning his ears.

A hushed silence falls after Donghyuck hits the last reverberating note with chilling accuracy. Jaemin is the first to snap into action. “Block the doors,” he orders Jisung and Sungchan. “Strap him to a chair,” he commands Jeno and Renjun.

By some kind of connections they don’t dare to ask too much about, Donghyuck manages to wrangle them a soundproof basement studio to practice in once a week. It has leaky pipes and zero ventilation, so it feels like a sauna, but to them, it’s their little slice of heaven. They try to gather every day during recess at Jeno and Jaemin’s table to work on composition and go over lyrics and riffs, but most days someone or other is absent.

During the precious hour-long weekly jam sessions, Jeno watches proudly from the back, beads of sweat rolling down his face as he pounds out a deafening tattoo on the drums - Jisung’s face screwed up in intense concentration as he fumbles to find every riff, with a precision that few amateur guitarists possess; Sungchan rocking out on the bass, his entire body totally into it; Renjun providing the trusty and unassuming backup harmonies; Chenle belting out sky high notes and Donghyuck making love to the mic as his voice melts over everything like sunshine and honey. But mostly, he finds his eyes monopolized by Jaemin’s tapered fingers flying over the keyboard, his body swaying gracefully to the music and his eyes closed, a faint, contented smile lacing his lips like this is exactly the kind of music he dreamt of making. The ethereal, tinkling melody of Jaemin’s piano is like church bells, easily lost and overpowered by the other instruments, but Jeno knows that their music would never be complete without that haunting refrain. Just like their hastily-cobbled-together, improbably perfect band wouldn’t exist without Jaemin and his determination.

Just like Jeno wouldn’t be here, making amazing music with even more amazing friends, if not for Jaemin.

They sign up for a competition with the tempting first prize money of 100,000 won. But before registering, they have to create a band name. It’s a question that stumps all of them, before a racket erupts as people start throwing out stupid names like _Jisung's Pimps_ and _Na Jaemin Sexy_ and _Pabo Donghyuck_.

Suddenly, a voice of reason rises from the rubble, like a choir of heavenly angels as Jeno pipes up, “How about Dream?”

An abrupt silence falls as everyone ponders the name for a second before simultaneously realizing its pure genius and utter perfection.

“Thank you, Jeno hyung!” Jisung whispers, tears running down his cheeks, expressing everyone’s heartfelt sentiments.

What is the most unexpected is that their single year in Korea turns out to be the most memorable one they have experienced since their fathers set up the company together. Jeno had dreaded it, seeing it as something he had to grit his teeth and endure through, but it was the end that he turned out to dread most. They expected nothing from Korea, and it had given them everything. Here, they met the most warm-hearted people and forged the most lasting friendships. They had done some of the wildest things in their lives. Jeno had drifted through life knowing that they would never stay long at any place, trying his best not to form any attachments, but Dream were the first to break down his walls and defences with the weight of their love, forming an unlikely but unbreakable bond. No matter what happens in future, Jeno knows he will never forget his eighteenth year.

But they knew from the start that they would only be here for their last year of high school. They planned everything out way back: they would graduate with decent enough results to apply for a school in LA, where Jaemin had been pining to go back to ever since they left at fifteen. After much wheedling and whining, their parents had finally agreed to let them room together at the university dormitory. It was too late to change their plans, and besides Jeno knew all their friends would be pursuing different routes, parting ways at this crossroads. They were lucky to even have had one year together at all.

Their parents send them off at the airport, their eyes shining with pride as they watch Jeno and Jaemin, all grown up and leaving the nest, turning back to wave a last time before disappearing behind the boarding gates. Jeno ponders over the various flights he has taken with Jaemin over the years. They always seemed to be flying somewhere or in transit, like migratory birds, never settling. In the end, the only thing Jeno could count on not to change was Jaemin. He was the only constant in a life of uncertainty.

The moment they land at the LA airport, the babble of rapidfire English calms and welcomes them. Jeno knows like him, Jaemin feels right at home in America, even though they’re Asians. They hail a cab to the dorm, and Jaemin presses his face to the window, wide-eyed and unblinking as he takes in the familiar landmarks whizzing past.

Jaemin blossoms in university, experiencing a spike in popularity and an influx of new friends. It seems like the moment they were out of their parents’ sight, Jaemin had morphed into a completely different person, losing his inhibitions once they reached America. This new Jaemin is unpredictable and thrillingly dangerous, outrageous and brash. He draws people towards him inexorably like moths to a flame, foreigners and Asians alike. He’s always the centre of attention, the life of the party. It seems like everyone wants a piece of Jaemin, and there is nothing left for Jeno when once he had felt like Jaemin belonged to him almost entirely.

Still, it’s not like everybody is blinded by Jaemin’s charm. There are girls who prefer Jeno’s steady and composed quietness. Jeno knows that some people find Jaemin unfathomable, but he knows better than anyone else that Jaemin is anything but. Jeno knows Jaemin like the back of his hand, and he knows Jaemin is hiding vulnerability behind bravado; that he is too loud to compensate for his insecurity; that the more carelessly he laughs, the less genuine it is. He knows that Jaemin flirts indiscriminately because he doesn’t know how to be himself in front of girls; that he’s all bluff and bluster and no bite. When he loves someone, he does it totally. Living with Jaemin is like a rollercoaster ride: one day he’s hyperactive and bubbling over with laughter and wisecracks, the next he’s withdrawn and brooding.

"Don’t touch me,” Jaemin’s voice is brittle when Jeno slides into bed beside him, his whole body stiffening. Jeno reflexively shrinks away, stumbling out of his bed and crashing onto his own.

“What happened?” he asks blearily.

“Yerim broke up with me,” Jaemin says flatly, muffled by the pillow. “She said she fell for you.”

“Oh.” Jeno winces. “I’m sorry.”

“Screw you.”

“Jaemin, come on,” Jeno pleads. “It’s not my fault, and I promise not to even look at her -”

“This isn’t the first time,” is all Jaemin says, and Jeno has nothing to respond to that. He listens to Jaemin’s sniffling until he falls into an exhausted sleep as Jeno tosses and turns restlessly. He can only imagine how inferior it makes Jaemin feel that more than one of his girlfriends have found Jeno more attractive and dumped him. He almost - almost - regrets the night Jaemin was drunk and Jeno and Yerim helped him home and when Yerim kissed him, he didn’t stop her. He had never gone as far as this, only flirting ambiguously with looks from the corner of his eye with Jaemin’s other girlfriends. But then again Yerim was the only one Jaemin had dated for more than a month and said he was serious about. It’s a secret Jeno will never admit to anybody as long as he lives, because he is unable to explain his actions, even to himself. What led him to do something so traitorous and downright malicious, so out of character? Jeno refuses to face the fact that he is someone who would hurt his best friend deliberately. But then the image of Jaemin kissing those girls floods his mind, seared onto the back of his eyelids - Jaemin being straddled by them, ravishing each other’s mouths, running his hands up the inside of their thighs... It makes Jeno physically sick thinking about it.

It’s probably because Jeno likes Jaemin best when he’s single, when all his attentions can be focused on Jeno without the distraction of girls and relationships. He likes it when Jaemin’s eyes are intently concentrated on him, when Jaemin is laughing at his lame jokes and spending every night in their dorm. He doesn’t like Jaemin talking or thinking about other people – because that’s how everyone feels about their best friend, right? Jeno assures himself this is completely normal, and tries to forget the uneasiness at the back of his mind.

After more than fifteen years of being “joined at the hip” as their parents would say, the time finally comes for Jeno and Jaemin to go separate ways. After they graduate with honours from university, Jeno decides to give in to his parents’ anxious calls and letters to come home to Korea after he graduates to help out with the business and spend time with his family. His father is getting older, and while Jeno is tempted to be selfish, he can’t ignore familial ties and obligations.

Jaemin decides to stay on in California indefinitely, having gotten hired as an instructor at a reputable photography studio. On the day of Jeno’s flight, Jaemin drives him to the airport in his battered jeep with the top open and the windows rolled down, the wind ruffling his hair. Jeno sneaks glances at him and tries to preserve the image of Jaemin’s angular profile, carving it in his memory till the next time they meet again. Jaemin bundles Jeno off into the boarding gates, saluting him and blowing sloppy kisses, an achingly dazzling smile on his face.

After three years of business school at Harvard, Jeno returns to Seoul to take over the management of the main office of Na & Lee Enterprises from his father. He’s missed it more than he realized, the familiarity of his native country. Within a year, he rises up the ranks to be promoted to general manager, then deputy CEO. Jeno works hard into the wee hours of the night, hoping to take on the burden of the company from his father and let him rest his mind enough to retire.

It is at a family dinner that he hears the familiar name again. “Jaeminie is coming home!” Mrs Na whispers, voice choked with tears and Jeno’s fork slips out of his fingers onto his plate with a clink. His heart is suddenly racing, his hands shaking. He shoves them under the table as he barely registers phrases of what Mrs Na is saying - _in a week, New York, won another medal, staying for good_.

At the last words, Jeno freezes, unable to believe his ears. Can it be true that Jaemin is finally ready to stop wandering and settle down? That the nomadic lifestyle they have shared since young has finally come to its culmination? That he is coming home to Korea? Coming home to _Jeno_?

Jeno is mortified to find tears filling his eyes. He can’t face the fact that twenty years, two degrees and one masters later, he is still the same crybaby Jaemin met when they were seven.

Jeno scans the horde of people filtering out of the arrival gates anxiously, searching for a familiar face. His sports car is parked outside the airport, and he wonders what Jaemin will say about it. Will he let out a low wolf whistle and run his slender fingers over the shiny exterior, or laugh at Jeno and make fun of him for trying to act cool? Jeno hides a smile at the thought, then feels like throwing up. Maybe he shouldn’t have tried so hard to convince their families that he should be the only one to pick Jaemin up from the airport and fetch him home.

Then his heart stops, because walking out of Immigration is a man dressed in all black, a cap pulled over his head, oversized sunglasses hiding half his face. His shoulders are broad, his stride confident. There is nothing in his demeanour or appearance to suggest that this is Jaemin, whom Jeno hasn’t seen in four years, except that it is unmistakably him. Jeno knows it deep in his gut, in his very bones, with the same certainty that pulls Jaemin inexorably towards him as he approaches closer, his eyes still indiscernible but lips stretching into a blinding grin.

“Jeno-yah?” Jaemin starts, the rest of his words muffled as Jeno wrenches him into his arms.

Korea, Los Angeles, then Hong Kong. And now, Korea again. They have circumnavigated the globe together, but nothing has ever felt like home to Jeno as much as being by Jaemin’s side.

He helps to carry Jaemin’s suitcases up the stairs to his childhood room as Jaemin is smothered in tearful hugs from his parents downstairs, finding the majestic canopy bed covered with a layer of fine dust, but everything is just as imposing as he remembered. The memories flood back into his mind as if it were just yesterday - how tiny he felt within the high ceilings and grandeur of Jaemin’s house, his room; how Jaemin had reclined in that beanbag chair in the corner and smirked up laconically at Jeno. Maybe at that moment, he had already fallen in love with Jaemin.

The door creaks open, jolting Jeno from his reverie. He whirls around to see Jaemin standing on the threshold, looking sheepish, his sunglasses off. His eyes are more piercing than Jeno remembered, the hungry look in them as they bore into him making his stomach do somersaults.

He tears his eyes away, heart thudding in his throat. “So,” he says, swallowing over it, “Are you coming back to work for the company?”

Jaemin sighs softly and slips into the room, closing the door behind him. He drifts over to the beanbag chair and settles down in it, crossing his legs with uncanny similarity to his seven-year-old self. “I guess,” he shrugs. “Can’t roam forever, even if I want to. Let’s be real, it wouldn’t last.” He taps his knees self-deprecatingly, but Jeno senses that it’s taken him a lot of pain to come to terms with this fact.

“Even if you don’t do photography professionally, you can always give lessons or practice it for fun,” he blurts out. “Don’t give up.”

Jaemin looks up at him, eyes glinting with amusement. “I never give up on the things I love,” he says finally, almost meaningfully. Their gazes lock and Jeno feels himself falling into the depths of Jaemin’s unreadable eyes until he averts his own, looking at the floor.

“You’ll have to show me the ropes,” Jaemin says, and when Jeno raises his head, he’s smiling, a small, kind smile, but his eyes are distant and remote again.

“Of course,” Jeno says hoarsely. Jaemin stretches and stands up, padding to the bed and sliding beneath the covers. Jeno senses that the conversation is over and shifts awkwardly too. “You must be really tired. Get some rest,” he mumbles.

Jeno trudges to the door, his heart sinking a little lower with every step. After four years - years of unbearable separation and relentless missing that felt more like lifetimes - this is all they have left? Jeno doesn’t know how to bridge the chasm that has opened between them, doesn’t know what words to say to tell Jaemin that he wants to go back to when they were seven, fifteen, eighteen with nothing separating them except the space of a hand.

The sound of Jaemin’s voice stops his hand on the doorknob. “Jen.”

When Jeno turns around, trembling and wondering if he imagined it, Jaemin is sitting in bed, looking small and defenceless in the ocean of sheets and smiling tremulously.

“Tuck me in?” he asks uncertainly.

Everything in Jeno tells him this isn’t a good idea, but he helplessly approaches the bed and clumsily draws the covers up around Jaemin’s shoulders, tucking them beneath his chin. Jaemin sighs almost obscenely and snuggles against his giant stuffed bear, eyes fluttering closed.

Jaemin’s eyelashes are longer than any girl’s Jeno has ever seen, his sleeping face prettier and more artless, unguarded and vulnerable in a way that goes straight to Jeno’s heart. Unconsciously, his hand moves to stroke Jaemin’s hair, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to Jaemin’s forehead.

As he’s pulling away, Jaemin’s eyes snap open, making him freeze. There is anger and confusion and hurt flashing in Jaemin’s dark eyes, his pupils glassy and blown frighteningly wide.

Jeno panics desperately, opening his mouth to apologize, but Jaemin’s hand is cupping the back of his neck and pulling him down and Jaemin’s open mouth is covering his, warm and wet and pliant against Jeno’s. Jeno struggles instinctively but Jaemin’s hand is as steely and steady as iron on his neck and Jaemin’s hot tongue is brushing his, making Jeno’s head spin.

Suddenly Jeno is on the bed, straddling Jaemin and still kissing as Jaemin tries to pull off his shirt, nearly ripping the sleeves off his arms. Jeno slips a clammy palm beneath the hem of Jaemin’s shirt, drawing a sharp inhale from him. Jaemin’s stomach is taut and toned, his skin feverish and smooth. Jaemin snaps his hips up, grinding against Jeno’s ass and Jeno can feel his erection.

Jeno’s hands are shaking so badly they can’t even undo a single button. Eventually, he growls in frustration and gives up, tearing open Jaemin’s shirt. Jaemin helpfully kicks his pants off, grabbing Jeno’s hand and pressing it hard against his throbbing cock. Jeno palms his cock clumsily and Jaemin groans, bucking into his hand and panting raggedly as he comes.

Jeno reaches into his own briefs to finally touch his aching cock, backing up to get a better view of Jaemin, spread wantonly beneath him, cum streaked across his stomach and hands flung almost painfully across his eyes. Jeno gently pries them away to see Jaemin’s gleaming black eyes, slanted with shame and desire. “Don’t look at me,” Jaemin begs, but Jeno says, “Show me everything.”

Jaemin’s bare body is breathtakingly built and sculpted, the muscles rippling beneath his skin. His shoulders are broad with delicately defined collarbones, tapering down to a narrow waist and sensuously swelling ass. There is nothing soft about Jaemin’s body - it’s all ropy tendons and bone, but Jeno wonders why there is something so heartbreakingly soft about Jaemin that it makes him want to cry. Jaemin is so bold, so prickly and headstrong and independent, always acting so tough, but that’s what makes him more fragile and breakable than anybody else.

Keeping his eyes on Jaemin, Jeno reaches into his briefs and closes his fingers over his own cock, enjoying the gasp it draws from Jaemin. Jaemin watches, eyes riveted as Jeno runs his own eyes hungrily over Jaemin’s body, taking in every detail. It’s enough to make him come, even without Jaemin touching him. He wants to draw out this sweet agony, till the very last moment when he can no longer stand the deprivation of Jaemin’s touch. Jeno tugs himself in rough, jerky strokes until he comes, spilling over Jaemin’s body. Jaemin trails his fingers through the cum and sucks them into his mouth, slowly and deliberately licking every one clean, his eyes glittering with challenge until Jeno is breathing heavy and hard again.

Jeno likes the way Jaemin says his name - he caresses the word on his tongue, infuses it with warmth, his accent slurring it in a dangerously sexy way. It’s different from how his parents say it, and it’s the first time Jaemin has called him with such intimacy.

Jeno wants to hear it for the rest of his life.

“It turns me on when you stutter,” Jaemin blurts out, brushing the hair away from Jeno’s face with a gentle thumb. “The first time we met... Goddamit, you were so fucking cute,” Jaemin curses.

Jeno gurgles with laughter. “ _Cute_?” he echoes incredulously. “You looked like you wanted to kill me.”

“Yeah, because you were so cute,” Jaemin retorts. “Do it again,” he orders.

“Do what?” Jeno frowns. “Stutter?”

Jaemin nods, eyes glowing with lust.

“You can’t be serious,” Jeno groans.

He gasps in surprise as Jaemin’s fingers close around his cock, breathing quickening as Jaemin moves them over it.

“I am,” he smiles sweetly.

Jeno struggles between the urge to punch him and kiss him stupid for a moment before he caves. He is about to stutter his own name the way he did on that first day, but then he thinks of an even better idea.

“Nana,” he says, watching Jaemin’s smile slip. “I-I love you.”

It’s all it takes to make Jaemin come undone, eyes shimmering with tears as he pins Jeno down in an armlock, cutting off his oxygen supply. “You cheater,” he says softly, voice breaking. Jeno struggles to breathe, finally gathering the strength to break out of Jaemin’s grasp and roll him over, bracing his hands on Jaemin’s shoulders.

Jaemin smiles seductively up at him, eyes hooded and lips swollen, hair fanned out around his head like a halo, the bare skin at his collarbones porcelain white. Jeno swears, and leans down to wipe that smirk off his lips with his own, mark that pristine skin with bites and bruises. He doesn’t know why it’s taken him two decades to find out that Jaemin’s body fits against his like two pieces of a puzzle; that splayed beneath him, wrecked and breathless, Jaemin is the most beautiful thing in the world.

He thinks about loving Jaemin and how it had changed him - giving him confidence as an excruciatingly shy child at seven; giving him companionship when he was alone at fifteen; giving him strength through those cold Cambridge winters and gruelling studying. Falling in love with Jaemin had made him invincible, fearless, reckless; all the qualities he had seen in Jaemin’s determined eyes every time he clicked the shutter, whether in his bedroom or the international arena. But most of all it had given him happiness, every day, knowing that he was so very, very lucky to have someone like Jaemin in his life. Jeno can’t imagine how his existence would have been like without Jaemin, and he never wants to. So he curls his body against Jaemin’s back and wraps his arms around Jaemin’s chest, letting the warmth emanating from bare skin against skin spread through him.

When Jeno wakes up, Jaemin is still there, in his arms, looking like a dream.


	2. caramel macchiato days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few readers of transit commented their interest in the high school and band part of the story, and as I mentioned in the first chapter there was a renhyuck side story that is actually mostly about the band and high school years of the 4-7 of them. I didn’t post it separately bc originally I didn’t think it was as good as transit, but upon rereading it I found it pretty cute and fluffy tbh. And I do think it adds a lot to the verse and also contains quite a bit of nomin [which is the side pairing here] and fleshed out the high school year that was glossed over in transit, so here it is for any readers who were interested in this verse, for your reading pleasure ;3 it was just languishing in that locked livejournal community tgt with transit anyway, so I figured why not post it to my ao3 haha
> 
> More people enjoyed reading transit than I expected and that was the reason I thought readers might enjoy an extension of the verse. I hope you find delinquent!donghyuck and good boy!renjun a little cute :) Of course, if you somehow didn’t read the first chapter, this can totally be read as a standalone renhyuck fic too. This AU, which I created back in 2014, is incredibly dear to me, so if you showed it love and spent time in it, thank you once again.
> 
> Rating changed since there is additional sexual content in this chap!

As far back as Donghyuck can remember, Renjun has always been the boy next door. They grew up running between each other’s houses, building sandcastles in each other’s backyards and knowing everything about each other like the back of their own hand. Their families were neighbours and their parents were friends, and Donghyuck’s bedroom window directly faced Renjun’s, a mere arm’s distance away. Added to the fact that they were the same age, it was practically the course of nature that they became best friends. Thinking back, it was almost cliché how typical childhood friends they were, how effortlessly they became closer than brothers without even thinking or contemplating the implications.

When they were five, Renjun became inexplicably obsessed with Morse code and they started communicating by turning their lights on and off at night, when their families were sleeping and everything was quiet. In the moonlight, Donghyuck would flick his light tirelessly and breathlessly decipher Renjun’s messages, covering his mouth to muffle his laughter. They were nothing special or very interesting, mostly things like _I’m sleepy_ or _What are you doing?_ but it felt terribly thrilling and exclusive, like spies exchanging signals in a secret language. When Renjun’s light paused either on or off for more than five seconds, Donghyuck would realize that he had fallen asleep, and stifle a giggle, flopping into bed and sinking into dreamland himself. The next day, he would wake up to the rhythmic plonking of stones being thrown at his window, and stagger out of bed, throwing it open to see Renjun grinning impatiently at him from the garden downstairs, sunlight haloing the crown of his head.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! It’s Saturday!” Renjun would call, and Donghyuck’s heart would soar weightlessly. When they were five, Saturday was the best day in the world because it meant greasy bacon and eggs for breakfast and then a special treat, their weekly trip to the playground.

Donghyuck pulled on his shirt hastily, not bothering to run a comb through his bed-hair and skidded down the stairs in his socks. As he rounded the landing, he could already catch a whiff of the aroma of brewing coffee and crispy bacon sizzling on the saucepan.

He would find Renjun downstairs, already sitting at the table and wolfing down his breakfast as Donghyuck’s father lowered the newspaper and murmured a fond good morning to him. His mother would be standing at the stove, flipping eggs and shooting him a distracted but loving smile. Donghyuck would plop down next to Renjun, steal a sip of his orange juice and make Renjun feed him a forkful of eggs, generally make a nuisance of himself until everyone was laughing and bantering.

When they turn seven, Donghyuck and Renjun’s parents enrol them in the same elementary school. Donghyuck cycles to school every morning on his rickety bicycle, Renjun riding pillion at the back, hands clutching Donghyuck’s waist as Donghyuck pedals diligently, the refreshing breeze rushing by their ears and caressing their faces, carrying the scent of spring blossoms.

“Hold on tight!” Donghyuck yells as they reach a steep slope, releasing the brakes and pedals and letting the downward momentum carry them forward. Renjun wraps his arms tightly around Donghyuck as they fly down the slope and screams in exhilaration as they jolt over bumps on the road, laughing breathlessly.

Sometimes Donghyuck takes a detour and cycles past the beach, both of them falling silent as they admire the picturesque view of the ocean and the endless expanse of azure sky meeting it at the horizon, the sea tangy in the air and on their tongues.

Sometimes they end up late for school and sometimes they cut school totally, cycling down the winding ribbon of road until Donghyuck is exhausted and Renjun offers to take over, but Donghyuck declines because he knows that Renjun has a weak constitution and easily runs out of breath. So they lie back on the deserted granite road and stare up at the milky blue sky, pointing out cloud castles to each other until Donghyuck catches his breath again.

They have many things in common, but the most striking similarity about Donghyuck and Renjun is their passion for and taste in music. They like the same genres and bands, like H.O.T and Shinhwa and Dong Bang Shin Ki and SNSD and Shinee, and every year on their birthdays they make mix tapes for each other. It’s an immense project that takes a whole year of planning, from the meticulous selection and elimination process to finally decide on the eight songs that make the final cut for the track list, then the designing and doodling of the album art that can rival abstract masterpieces. Donghyuck treasures every single mix tape Renjun has given him – six for every birthday since his seventh and counting – and displays them proudly on a special shelf, dusting them every so often.

Of course, their passion for listening to good music extends to singing it, and occasionally, they will record unpolished, acoustic covers of them harmonizing to their favourite songs as Donghyuck strums the guitar and upload them on Youtube. The day they create their channel, they rack their brain for a username that isn’t already taken. Finally, they settle on a combination of both their names: Renhyuck.

They graduate from middle school and enter the affiliated junior high. When Donghyuck comes home one day with his ears pierced, his mother cries and his father yells at him so loudly Renjun’s family calls up to check if they’re okay.

Donghyuck goes on to get two more piercings, on his conch and cartilage, and a sloppy tattoo on his inner arm at an illegal parlour. He thinks he can hide it from his parents, but blows it in a moment of carelessness. Another round of crying and screaming ensues.

“You’ve changed,” Donghyuck’s mother accuses, and his father shakes his head in disappointment. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Donghyuck doesn’t know why he keeps going back for more, why he can’t stop punching holes in his body and replacing flesh with chrome and silver. Maybe he’s addicted to the pain. Or maybe he’s just hopelessly corrupted.

Donghyuck bleaches his hair platinum blond and gets detention for that. In detention, he meets a bunch of delinquents who admire his guts and recruit him into their gang. He starts ditching class to hang out with them, causing him to get detention again, which he also ditches, causing him to get double detention. It’s like a trap he can never get out of, so he gives up.

Donghyuck can’t remember when he started feeling inferior and unworthy, not good enough to be Renjun’s friend. Renjun is so gentle and warm-hearted he wouldn’t even hurt a fly, while Donghyuck is rebellious and difficult and misunderstood, always getting into messes. Renjun is smart and sheltered and stately, while Donghyuck is bumbling and coarse and unrefined. He starts suspecting that Renjun is ashamed of him, that he’s just as impatient with Donghyuck as everyone else but only staying his friend out of sympathy. He starts feeling like he’s a burden, holding Renjun back and standing in his way.

Renjun finds Donghyuck at the playground their parents used to take them every Saturday. Donghyuck is sitting in a swing, his body scrunched up awkwardly to squeeze into it, and rocking back and forth despondently. Renjun settles into the swing next to him with a creak.

“Wow, this is tiny,” Renjun says, and Donghyuck looks up, pained. He hastily stands up, trying to get out of his swing, but he seems to be stuck. Renjun laughs, loud and ringing in the quiet playground, and Donghyuck blushes, glaring at him.

“Why are you ignoring me? I'm lonely.” Renjun blurts out, and his mouth is smiling but his eyes are lost and uncomprehending.

Donghyuck sneers. “You shouldn’t talk to me. Didn’t your parents warn you not to?”

Renjun just cocks his head and looks up at him, reaching easily for his hand. “I don’t care,” he says quietly. “Donghyuck-ah, you’re my best friend.”

When everyone in the world gave up on Donghyuck, even his parents, Renjun was the only one who staunchly stuck by him, seeing past the piercings and body art and scruffy exterior to realize that Donghyuck was still himself, the boy who was Renjun’s best friend. He was the only one who accepted Donghyuck unconditionally, never judging him based on superficial appearances. He always believed in Donghyuck, only seeing the good within him. Renjun was the only reason why Donghyuck never gave up on himself, because he wanted to live up to Renjun’s expectations, prove that Renjun had been right to trust him. Renjun’s eyes were the only ones Donghyuck couldn’t bear to see disappointment in.

Then puberty happens. One normal, unremarkable morning after their sixteenth birthday, Donghyuck wakes up to Renjun throwing stones at his window, as usual. He stumbles blearily out of bed and throws open his window, as usual. He looks down, as usual.

Then everything changes. Because Renjun is standing on the ground floor, calling impatiently up to Donghyuck, and he’s the same Renjun that Donghyuck has known for more than a decade, seen everyday and known inside and out, but at the same time he’s totally different, completely new. For the first time, Donghyuck is acutely aware of how soft and creamy Renjun’s skin looks, clearer than any girl’s he’s ever seen; how dark and pretty Renjun's almond-shaped eyes are, like an Artic fox’s; how Renjun’s eyes curve into half-moons when he laughs; how dazzling Renjun’s smile is in the sunlight; how Renjun literally _sparkles_ like a fucking shoujo manga character or something.

Donghyuck drinks in the way Renjun’s uniform is untucked, his top button undone and shirttails falling carelessly out. His hair is tousled hopelessly, mussed in a way that makes Donghyuck want to card his fingers through it. His bag is slung sloppily over his shoulder and the way his warm voice is saying Donghyuck’s name makes chills run down Donghyuck’s spine. Donghyuck doesn’t know what this feeling is, this feeling of freefalling, the ground opening up beneath him, except that it’s terrifying.

He backs into the room, slamming his window closed and leaning weakly against it, pressing a hand to his racing heart. Outside, he can hear Renjun’s confused voice, but Donghyuck clenches his fists and resolutely ignores it until it wavers and finally ceases.

Donghyuck knows he’s screwed when he starts suspecting that Renjun is doing this on purpose, lounging on the floor on his stomach and elbows in a threadbare tank top with armholes so big Donghyuck can see his nipples, his bare legs pedaling the air. “Oh, hey,” Renjun says casually when Donghyuck pushes open his bedroom, rolling onto his back, the singlet riding up to reveal a glimpse of his hipbone, and Donghyuck backs out quickly, slamming the door. He slumps against the closed door, calling hoarsely, “Get dressed! Didn’t you ask me to come over?”

There is a pause, before Renjun’s puzzled voice filters out. “I did? And I _am_ dressed?”

Donghyuck takes a deep breath. “Screw this,” he mutters. “I’m going back.”

“Wait!” he hears Renjun call after him and open the door, but he doesn’t turn back as he pounds down the stairs and back to his house, heart hammering.

Donghyuck throws himself onto his bed, wanting to claw his eyes out to obliviate the image of the curve of Renjun’s pelvic bone seared behind his eyelids, wanting to tear off his clothes so he’ll stop feeling so feverish and pent up. Of course Renjun can’t be doing this on purpose. He doesn’t have a clue about Donghyuck’s twisted urges, his disgusting thoughts. Renjun is painfully innocent and guileless, pristine as a piece of white paper and Donghyuck is the one besmirching his purity by projecting his dirty fantasies onto him. It’s filthy and wrong and sacrilegious and Donghyuck is going to burn in hell.

The last straw comes when Donghyuck pushes open his bedroom door one day to find Renjun sprawled leisurely on his bed, wearing nothing but his ratty, faded b-boy sweatshirt and looking like he belongs there. It fits Donghyuck perfectly and looks like a potato sack on him, but on Renjun it swallows his waiflike frame, hanging to his thighs and somehow makes him look like a million adorable bucks. Donghyuck opens his mouth, heart pounding wildly but the reproachful words dry up on his tongue when Renjun looks up and smiles innocently. “Oh, you’re back. Welcome home.”

Donghyuck buries his nose in his pillow that night, inhaling the remnants of Renjun’s musky scent and jerks himself off in the dark, sick with shame and guilt. He shoves the sweatshirt in the back of his closet and tries to forget the way Renjun tugged the sleeves over his wrists and covered his mouth as he laughed, eyes crinkling.

Donghyuck wishes desperately that they could go back to the past, to the time when things were so innocent between them, when their biggest concern was what to eat for dinner and who would win at Playstation. Their relationship was so simple and uncomplicated back then, free of confusing desires and dark urges, angst and artifice. They had loved each other with everything they knew love was, and it was enough.

Renjun doesn’t take long to realize that Donghyuck has started avoiding him, subtly distancing himself. Renjun has always been sharp and intuitive about these things, instantly sensing it when there is a shift in their dynamic. At first, he’s hurt and bewildered, smile freezing up and the light in his eyes dimming. Then he gets angry, eyes flashing and voice sharp with sarcasm. Donghyuck can deal with anger, but what he can’t deal with is the third stage of Renjun’s reaction: denial. He pretends not to notice when Donghyuck doesn’t respond to his coldness, instead clamming up and becoming more reticent. He starts pretending that everything is okay, forcing a smile and slinging his arm around Donghyuck’s stiff shoulder, and that hurts Donghyuck more than Renjun being upset. He despises himself, feeling like the biggest asshole of the year for singlehandedly destroying their friendship.

The last stage Renjun goes through is acceptance. Donghyuck should have known that Renjun would get tired eventually, that he wouldn’t chase after Donghyuck forever when Donghyuck was standoffish and not reciprocating. Renjun had made the most valiant effort – he had been a remarkably persistent friend, more patient than Donghyuck himself would have been. Even though it’s what Donghyuck wanted, he can’t help the hollow, vacant feeling in the pit of his stomach on the first morning Renjun doesn’t stop by his house on the way to school.

Since they are in different classes, when they stop making an effort to meet up, it’s very easy to stop crossing paths. Sometimes, Donghyuck sees the back of a familiar head, hair tousled and sticking up, or hears a haunting laugh, and his heart skips a longing beat. But then Renjun brushes past him, eyes blank and aloof, looking right through him as if he’s a stranger, and Donghyuck’s knees grow weak, his chest clenching as if dealt an invisible blow.

Donghyuck is lying in bed one night, hot and restless, the covers flung off his body when he hears a muffled but unmistakable shout from the open window. Tripping out of bed, he leans breathlessly out of his window and strains his ears. The opposite room’s curtains are drawn, but the window is open and the light is on. Donghyuck’s heart kicks helplessly with panic, and he paces his room for a few seconds before dragging a chair to the window and clambering onto the windowsill. Donghyuck sways precariously for a minute before he catches his balance, teetering on the narrow banister as he stretches to reach for the ledge of Renjun’s window. His fingers curl around it and he uses the momentum to swing his body over, grunting as he heaves himself up onto the windowsill with sheer upper body strength.

Donghyuck topples through the curtains, landing on the floor of Renjun’s bedroom. When he raises his head, the first thing he sees is a stranger bending over Renjun’s bed, his arms braced on it. The next thing he sees is Renjun beneath him, eyes closed and face flushed intoxicatedly, squirming weakly.

Anger flashes across Donghyuck’s vision instinctively, blurring it and clouding his senses. He growls and lunges towards the boy, hauling him off Renjun and shoving him backwards. The boy yells in surprise, back hitting the closet with a loud thump. In a flash, Donghyuck has him in a chokehold by his collar, his other hand balling uncontrollably into a fist.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he snarls.

The boy cowers in his grasp, and looking closer Donghyuck can see that his eyes are unfocused, his face as blotchy as Renjun’s. Donghyuck shakes him in disgust until his teeth rattle. “Dammit, you wasted asshole, I asked you a question –”

“Donghyuck?” Renjun’s voice from behind startles him, making him lose his bearings. The boy takes the chance to shove Donghyuck away, and Donghyuck loses his balance and finds himself sprawled on the floor as Renjun stares at him incredulously from the bed, eyes narrowing in confusion quickly replaced by anger.

“What are you doing in my room?” Renjun says coldly, and Donghyuck flinches, feeling like an idiot. He drops his gaze in embarrassment as he hears a voice that doesn’t sound like his own saying sardonically, “Sorry for interrupting. I heard a shout and actually thought you were in trouble.” His voice cracks on the last word, effectively ruining his cool delivery.

There is a stilted pause, then Renjun replies, sounding less angry than uncertain this time. “What are you talking about? Lucas was just helping me into bed.”

Renjun’s words are slightly slurred by alcohol, his Saturi slipping out, and Donghyuck can’t resist sneaking a glance, running his eyes swiftly over Renjun’s body to check for any injuries. He gets to his feet shakily, feeling the two boys’ baffled gazes on him as he crosses the room to the window and climbs up, swinging himself carelessly to the other side. He nearly falls down to the first storey and breaks his neck, but when he crashes to the floor of his bedroom the only thing he can think of is the inscrutable look in Renjun’s dark, blown pupils, part annoyance, part inexplicable hope.

The curiosity to know what is going on in Renjun’s life is killing him slowly, and Donghyuck starts resorting to the desperate measure of bribing Chenle, a junior and one of their mutual friends, to keep tabs on him. “Keep tabs” being a nice way of saying “stalking”. Donghyuck can’t believe that he’s sunk to this level, that he’s become one of those creeps who stalks their best friend. He scrimps and saves on meals and bus fare, ignoring the look of avid curiosity and mild pity in Chenle’s eyes as Donghyuck shoves crumpled notes into his hand and orders him to continue following Renjun and reporting back to him.

Donghyuck reassures himself that he is merely concerned about Renjun’s safety and well-being, that Renjun’s parents have entrusted the duty of protecting him to Donghyuck. Of course, that is all. Donghyuck doesn’t want to know about Renjun’s whereabouts and life out of any of his own selfish motives.

Renjun is so defenceless and delicate, always so unsuspecting and clueless about other people’s impure intentions. He’s too kind for his own good, and maddeningly dense. How many persistent suitors had Donghyuck fended off through the years, while Renjun remained blissfully unaware? How steadfastly had he guarded Renjun’s chastity? He had been Renjun’s knight in shining armour, his guardian angel.

A few weeks into senior year of high school, Chenle corners him in the boys’ toilet after school. “Hyung, I’m joining a band and we need another singer,” he says urgently.

Donghyuck frowns at him impatiently and scoffs unceremoniously. “So?”

“Can you come for the audition?” Chenle pleads sheepishly.

“No,” Donghyuck says flatly and turns to leave.

As he steps out of the door, Chenle’s voice stops him in his tracks. “If you don’t, I’ll tell Renjun hyung that you’ve been stalking him.”

Donghyuck turns around slowly, his eyes narrowing. Chenle quivers like jelly as Donghyuck takes a step towards him, but stands his ground.

“Zhong Chenle,” Donghyuck drawls, flexing his hands threateningly. “Are you blackmailing me right now?”

Chenle shrugs, looking pale. “Are you coming or not?” he challenges, jutting his chin.

Donghyuck mutters unhappily under his breath as Chenle leads him down the corridor towards the empty classroom, looking grim but triumphant. When he drags Donghyuck through the door and gleefully announces, “Donghyuck hyung is here for the audition,” the first thing Donghyuck sees is four unfamiliar boys staring at him quizzically. The next is Renjun perching on a table behind them, closer than Donghyuck has seen him for more than a year. Donghyuck inhales sharply and whirls around to glare accusatorily at Chenle, who only blinks innocently.

Renjun sees him at the exact same time. “Lee Donghyuck, what are you doing here?” he screeches.

Donghyuck sputters. “What are _you_ doing here?” he fires back brilliantly.

A babyfaced junior sitting at the front speaks up informally. “What’s going on? How do you know Renjun hyung?”

Donghyuck scowls at him and replies curtly, “He’s my neighbour.” _And best friend_ , he adds silently to himself, but he’ll die before he ever lets Renjun hear it.

Renjun looks curiously dismayed, but he tosses his head and quips sassily, “We’re like, childhood friends. But generally I like to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

The words pierce Donghyuck’s chest like darts, but he pretends to be unruffled. “Yah! Watch your words!” he bristles loudly to hide his hurt and brandishes a fist. Renjun sticks out his tongue brazenly at him.

“Soo... why are you here?” one of the older boys, presumably the leader, deadpans. Donghyuck flounders, and Chenle nudges him, winking positively evilly. “He owes me a favour, right hyung?” Donghyuck passionately regrets the day he ever befriended Chenle.

“Just one song, you hear me?” he says gruffly. “And then I’m outta here.”

Feeling Renjun’s eyes trained on him, Donghyuck opens his mouth self-consciously. He hasn’t sang in years, ever since the amateur home videos he recorded with Renjun in their bathroom for better acoustics, and his voice is shaky and unstable. But it gradually gains strength and confidence as he goes on, and Donghyuck is suddenly reminded of why and how much he had always loved singing.

When he finishes the verse, he realizes that the room has abruptly sunk into silence, his last note echoing into the vacuum. Everyone is staring at him, their mouths gaping open like goldfish, and Donghyuck instinctively flushes until he realizes that their eyes are not mocking but impressed. A rush of warmth fills his chest as he sees Renjun’s expression – soft and unguarded, filled with respect and open admiration, like the way he used to look at Donghyuck when they recorded covers. Donghyuck didn’t realize how much he had missed that; how much he had missed singing. Most of all, he hadn’t realized how much he had missed Renjun.

“Block the doors. Strap him to a chair,” the leader orders, and Donghyuck yelps in surprise as he finds himself grabbed from both sides and bodily manhandled, but is distracted when he realizes one of his captors is Renjun.

Donghyuck busts all his life savings on renting a shitty, cramped studio in the basement of a crumbling building once a week for jam sessions. For some reason, the other boys are under the impression that he used some shady means to get it. He doesn’t correct their misunderstanding, hoping it will make him look mysterious and cool in Renjun’s eyes.

Unexpectedly, he starts looking forward to the hour-long sessions every Tuesday, even though they are disorganized and stifling. There is something magical and soothing about the way Renjun and Chenle’s voices intertwine with his, the way the chaotic white noise of their varied instruments and voices miraculously blends together to form _music_.

The first time he hears Renjun sing, the ground falls out from under Donghyuck’s feet. In the span of a few years, Renjun’s voice has matured and gained depth, lost its occasional cracks and uneven, prepubescent quality. Now, it’s silky and smooth as velvet, airy and mellow, inexplicably sorrowful. Donghyuck wonders why Renjun sings like his heart is broken, why his eyes prickle strangely when he hears Renjun singing love songs.

They arrange to meet at Jeno and Jaemin’s table in the cafeteria every afternoon at break to brainstorm and plan, but Donghyuck doesn’t attend every day. Not because he’s not free, but because he doesn’t want to appear too enthusiastic. He still needs to maintain the pretence that joining the band is a chore, even when it has become the highlight of his days.

 _You seem plain but you’re special_ , Donghyuck sings, and when he catches Jaemin looking oddly at him, Donghyuck realizes that he’s staring longingly at Renjun. He quickly looks away, panicking, and Jaemin smirks knowingly. Donghyuck’s face burns. Jaemin is too shewd for Donghyuck’s comfort, and Donghyuck doesn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut. From then on, he studiedly goes out of his way not to look in Renjun’s direction.

It doesn’t take long for Donghyuck to realize something devastating: Renjun and Jeno are very close. Like, unnaturally close. Like, so close it makes Donghyuck seethe with jealousy. He doesn’t understand what Renjun finds so entertaining and attractive about Jeno. Jeno is boring and mousy and timid, the opposite of Donghyuck. And Renjun likes people like Donghyuck, loud and confident and fun-loving. Right?

Sure, Jeno is Renjun’s classmate and seat partner. And he is drop-dead gorgeous and ridiculously nice. As nice as Donghyuck’s grandpa. But that doesn’t explain why Renjun beams up at him like Jeno personally hung the stars in the sky, why they giggle and whisper to each other like schoolgirls and why Renjun has kissed – yes, _kissed_ \- Jeno’s cheek on more than three occasions.

Donghyuck will never forgive Jeno for stealing Renjun’s virgin lips.

It just doesn’t make sense, Donghyuck thinks, studying himself ruefully in the mirror and trying to be objective. He takes off his shirt and flexes his biceps. He’s less awkward, funnier than Jeno. And he's working on a six pack.

Donghyuck runs his fingers idly over the lines of his abs, imagining they are Renjun’s fingers, and suddenly, he finds himself painfully, agonizingly hard. “Fuck,” he mutters, falling back onto the bed and tugging himself off in rough, clumsy strokes as he pictures Renjun’s sharp voice and soft eyes; Renjun on his knees, pretty pink lips stretched around his cock, his head bobbing up and down as he blows Donghyuck enthusiastically.

After puzzling over this dilemma until he develops a migraine, the only possible conclusion Donghyuck can come to is that Jeno is Renjun’s type. And if Renjun’s type is nerdy, shy and dull – well, Donghyuck will just have to become that.

“Excuse me, no trespassers allowed,” Jaemin intones when Donghyuck walks into the studio the next day.

Donghyuck stares at him. “It’s me, Donghyuck!” he whines, hurt.

Jaemin does a double take as Donghyuck pushes up his tortoiseshell glasses self-consciously. His eyes flicker past Donghyuck’s hair gelled and flattened against his head and zoom in on how high Donghyuck’s uniform shirt is tucked into his pants, almost at his breast pocket. “Uhh... doesn’t your dick hurt?” he says bluntly.

Renjun is staring at Donghyuck, stupefied, but the tips of his ears turn red at Jaemin’s words.

Donghyuck laughs stiffly, diffusing the awkward tension. “Nah, I just came from the library,” he says offhandedly, and Jeno chokes on his water and starts hacking and wheezing. Renjun instantly starts fussing over him, offering to give him CPR until Jaemin pushes him away, and Donghyuck plucks the stupid glasses off and stomps viciously on them.

“You reek,” Renjun remarks, nose crinkling in distaste as Donghyuck sits down next to him. “Were you smoking again?”

“Umm...” Donghyuck stammers guiltily. He knows he shouldn’t, but sometimes the stress of being so near Renjun coupled by the intensity of practice makes him too wound up to go on without a cigarette.

The look of disappointment in Renjun’s eyes is crushing.

When Donghyuck walks into practice next Tuesday, everyone wrinkles their noses simultaneously. “What’s that smell?” Renjun chokes, and Jaemin flaps his hand in the air. “Did you pour a whole bottle of perfume over yourself or something?”

Technically, it was _cologne_ , but Donghyuck isn’t going to quibble over semantics.

Donghyuck saunters arrogantly towards the couch, throwing himself down beside Renjun, who looks uncomfortable but too polite to move away. Donghyuck shoots a look at Chenle, and he jumps nervously.

“Ah! Donghyuck hyung! Your breath smells really fresh today!” Chenle exclaims loudly.

An awkward silence descends on the room as everyone turns to blink at him owlishly. Donghyuck facepalms.

“How would _you_ know that?” Renjun says testily, breaking the silence and looking suspiciously between the two of them.

“You know, you get karma for being the third party and breaking up couples,” Donghyuck says casually one Tuesday as they’re lounging on the couch and waiting for Jeno and Jaemin to arrive, but he can’t keep the edge of bitterness out of his voice.

“Who’s a couple?” Renjun looks confused.

“Duh,” Jisung rolls his eyes, and Sungchan scoffs. “Everyone with eyes can see that Jaemin and Jeno hyung are gay, in love and –”

“—in denial,” Chenle finishes, and they high-five each other.

Donghyuck shrugs smugly at Renjun, but Renjun huffs dismissively. “Give me a break. Since when did you become Mr Cupid?”

The juniors giggle, and Donghyuck grimaces.

“Seriously,” he snaps. “You should stop flirting with Jeno.”

Renjun stares at him defiantly. “So what if I flirt with him?” he counters. “At least he’s hot.”

It’s the way Renjun blushes when he says the word _hot_ that undoes Donghyuck and makes him blurt out his next words. “Eww, gross! That’s so gay.”

He realizes how juvenile and prejudiced he sounds the moment they leave his mouth, but Renjun is already looking at him with abject disgust. “God.” He shakes his head, getting off the couch. “You’re so homophobic.”

Chenle, Sungchan and Jisung are watching him like a freak train wreck as Renjun stalks away. “Hyung, when will you stop putting your foot in your mouth?” Chenle groans sympathetically.

“It used to be funny,” Sungchan remarks tragically, “but now it’s just sad.” Jisung nods sagely.

“Stop!” Jaemin slams his hands down on the keyboard halfway through practice, plunging the room into a thick silence. It’s an unseasonably hot summer afternoon and they’ve been practicing the same part for hours, tempers running high. Jeno steps out from behind the drums and lays a soothing hand on his shoulder, but Jaemin shrugs it off.

“Do you even know what you’re singing about?” he demands harshly, swinging his gaze onto Renjun. “Where are your _emotions_?”

Renjun flinches visibly, and Donghyuck feels a flare of anger but stays silent.

Jaemin just looks at Renjun judgmentally, and continues unforgivingly, “Have you ever fallen in love?”

Donghyuck’s breath catches, his eyes snapping up to see Renjun hesitate, then nod slightly. His heart plummets to his knees, his mind racing to process this. When did Renjun fall in love? Why didn’t he know this?

The words _With who?_ are on the tip of his tongue, and Donghyuck has to bite it until he tastes the rust of blood to stop himself from doing something crazy and stupid, say something he will regret the moment it’s out.

For the rest of the session, Donghyuck messes up countless times, forgetting lyrics and spacing out until everyone loses their patience, but he doesn’t care. A hollow void seems to have opened up inside him, and he can’t stop obsessing over Renjun’s revelation.

“Yah! Lee Donghyuck!” Jaemin bellows finally, bringing him to his senses, and he comes back to earth to find Jaemin getting up in his personal space, glowering menacingly at him. Anyone else would be intimidated, but Donghyuck is too frustrated to feel caution, his nerves already jittery and on edge, his body stretched tense and taut as a spring from thinking about Renjun. He feels the violence surging in him, the uncontrollable urge to hit something, anything, and knows that he will lose control at the slightest provocation. When Jaemin starts cursing in English, that’s when he snaps. Donghyuck hates when he doesn’t understand what people are criticizing about him, and Jaemin knows it.

In a heartbeat, Donghyuck’s hands are on Jaemin’s chest, shoving him backwards and making him lose his balance. Jeno moves to break his fall, crashing into the drums and making them topple. Jaemin is spitting mad, struggling out of Jeno’s armlock to swing at Donghyuck, but then without warning Renjun inserts himself between both of them, blocking Donghyuck. Jaemin doesn’t manage to stop his blow in time, his nails raking down Renjun’s cheek.

Donghyuck’s blood boils as he shoves Renjun out of the way and grabs Jaemin by the collar, breathing hard with rage. He doesn’t care if he gets hurt, but if anyone touches a single hair on Renjun’s head, he’ll skin them alive. The only thing saving Jaemin from being pummelled to a bloody pulp is Jeno placing his body physically in front of his, his quietness unchanged but his eyes steely and his knuckles paling as they detach Donghyuck’s hands from Jaemin’s shirt.

It’s not that he’s afraid of Jeno when he gets angry, Donghyuck reassures himself for the hundredth time later. It’s just that he didn’t want to stoop to their level and create a scene. And yet, he can’t help feeling useless that once again, he had failed to protect Renjun.

They score a gig pinch hitting at a live music bar when the original band bails out at the last minute. It's no Inkigayo or Music Bank, but at least it will chip in some sorely needed cash towards the studio rent. Even the haze of cheap cigarettes and stale beer and the shabby, staticky sound system can't dim the sheer power of Renjun's voice, the unadorned beauty. One day, Donghyuck swears to himself that they will play on a stage befitting Renjun's talent, with a top-notch sound system that does justice to every husky layer of his voice. Till then, he is perfectly content watching proudly as Renjun turns heads with his singing and captures hearts with his smile.

As they are loading the equipment back into the beat-up van they rented after the gig, Donghyuck takes off his shirt to wipe his sweat. A group of teenage girls he had noticed sitting near the stage during their performance sidle up, giggling and squealing. They push one of the girls out, and she stumbles forward, blushing as Donghyuck reaches out to steady her. "Oppa, you're so hot!" she says breathily, shamelessly oogling his abs. "Can I have your autograph?"

Donghyuck stutters in surprised embarrassment. Instinctively, his eyes find Renjun, who is sitting in the back of the van with his arms folded and pretending not to notice them. Donghyuck returns the girl's smile awkwardly, reaching for the proferred pen and paper and signs sloppily. The girl squeaks like a beheaded mouse and thanks him profusely, running back to her friends. Donghyuck watches in bemusement and can't resist feeling a little flattered.

"Put on your damn shirt, you're not at the sauna," Renjun snaps when he climbs into the van. deflating his cocky grin.

"Why are you pissed?" Donghyuck grumbles, but Renjun ignores him sulkily.

Donghyuck had always felt that there was something missing in the covers he made with Renjun years ago, but try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on it. Now, he can finally identify it in the other members’ music. What him and Renjun were lacking was Dream. It’s the name Jeno brilliantly comes up with when they sign up for a competition, and it sounds like one of those cheesy, sparkly manufactured bubblegum boy bands the girls in their class idolize. But Donghyuck has to agree that it’s indescribably perfect. Now, their sound is finally complete.

Donghyuck had thought that his senior year would be just as uneventful as the previous ones, drifting through it and barely scraping up passing grades, missing Renjun with a dull unceasing ache. He never expected to meet this group of mismatched, unruly boys, of vastly different ethnicities and personalities but sharing the same unlikely dream of making music that would make people smile. He thought that the estrangement between him and Renjun was too deep to be untangled, not even having the courage to try before giving up. He never knew that so soon, he would be able to stand in the same room as Renjun and breathe the same air, even exchanging friendly barbs reminiscent of their priceless childhood bickering and squabbling. Meeting the boys of Dream had led him to forge new and surprisingly precious friendships, fulfil a dream he didn’t even know he had, and light up his monochrome days with the colour of music. It had opened new horizons and glimpses to a world he had never even dared to imagine.

The final round of the battle of the bands is a week after graduation. It’s down to them and a punk metal band called Wayv, and Donghyuck never imagined that they would get this far. Jeno and Jaemin were supposed to leave immediately after the last day of school, but they deferred their flight for the competition. It’s their last show together, and feels bittersweet and monumental. Whether they win or not, Donghyuck knows that it will be a show they will never forget. During the last few days, they practice without stopping, crashing overnight in sleeping bags and on the ratty sofa in the basement studio, sweating profusely in the humid room. When they get hungry someone calls for pizza, but after they scarf down a slice they continue practicing again without a minute of rest.

When Donghyuck wakes up on the day of the competition, his breath hitches to find his legs tangled with Renjun’s, who is snoring quietly with his head pillowed on the other end of the couch. He blinks and looks up to find everyone passed out except Jaemin sitting on the loveseat and scrawling notes on manuscript paper, raising a finger to his lips and smiling softly as his eyes flicker over Jeno sleeping on his lap. Donghyuck smiles back groggily and tries to discreetly untangle his legs from between Renjun’s but eventually gives up.

“It’s D-Day!” Jisung hollers the moment he wakes up, jolting everyone from their slumber. Renjun stirs and Donghyuck quickly pulls his legs away, accidentally kicking Renjun in the crotch. Cursing inwardly, he hastily shuts his eyes and pretends to be asleep, heart thudding in his ears.

After a few minutes, Donghyuck squints a cautious eye open. He is surprised to find Renjun looking at him, an impenetrable expression in his eyes, and apparently surprises Renjun too, because he jumps and looks away guiltily, staring at the wall. Donghyuck clears his throat, ignoring this weird encounter and gets to his feet, going out to wash up with a bottle of water and a toothbrush.

Renjun is heart-stopping beneath the soft glow of the spotlights, the dust catching the golden light in a halo above his head as he sings the chorus, both hands clasped almost worshipfully around the mic and eyes closed, lashes splayed over his cheekbones. He’s simply, unutterably perfect – Huang Renjun, Donghyuck’s best friend, first love and soulmate. Donghyuck’s heart swells with a rush of sudden, overwhelming pride and tears choke up his throat with emotion as he sings the next line of the chorus, smoothly continuing on from Renjun’s last word without missing a beat. Donghyuck had always been able to complete Renjun’s sentences, read his mind just by looking into his eyes, exchange whole volumes of conversations without words. Just like Renjun had always been the only one who understood Donghyuck completely.

They had laughed and cried, fought and quarrelled together, growing up side by side. They had hung on through the good and bad times, the happiness and the tears. Donghyuck doesn’t know why he had struggled so hard to run, to push Renjun away, when he was always irresistibly tugged back by a gravitational force beyond his control, like a planet orbiting the sun. And Donghyuck realizes that Renjun is the sun, he has always been Donghyuck’s sun, his eyes gentle as the weak winter rays peeking through the clouds; his warmth as constant as autumn light; his smile as brilliant as summer sunshine. And he will always be.

They wait backstage in the wings as the judges announce the results, shirts sticking to their skin with sweat and breath held in anticipation. Jisung is praying fervently, his eyes closed with Sungchan’s arm around him, looking expressionless and grim, while Chenle’s face is a little green. Donghyuck hopes he won’t throw up before the results are out. Jeno and Jaemin are in their own little world, their foreheads pressed together and murmuring to each other in low English. Suddenly, Donghyuck feels a hand slipping into his, and looks down to find Renjun’s fingers intertwining with his and tightening over his knuckles. His eyes widen as they meet Renjun’s, stricken, but before he can say anything or pull away the judge’s voice booms, “Dream!” and ear-splitting screams and applause are deafening Donghyuck’s ears as Renjun jumps up and down beside him like a demented bunny, sobbing and laughing incoherently.

On impulse, Donghyuck hauls Renjun roughly into his arms, feeling the hitch of Renjun’s breath against his neck and the way his heart stutters and skips a beat against Donghyuck’s chest. Then relief floods over him, weakening his limbs as Renjun hugs back just as tightly, and then they are ambushed by a smothering group hug as the rest of the members pile over them haphazardly.

The members of Wayv high-five them good-naturedly as they bound onstage, shouting their congratulations, and then they are standing before the crowd and grinning like shit-eating idiots as they accept the gigantic prize cheque to a resounding uproar of support from the crowd punctuated by high-pitched fangirl shrieks.

When they have calmed down as much as they can, they are ushered into the waiting room backstage for a post-competition interview. Donghyuck darts a nervous glance at the intimidatingly blinking camera and tries to stay chill.

“Did you know that the organizers invited some scouts today, and they want to offer you a contract?” the interviewer queries, and they exchange startled glances.

“No, we didn’t,” Renjun replies, his voice trembling a little.

The interviewer rattles off a name of a reputable record company, and they all look a little stunned, unable to believe their sheer luck.

“I’m afraid we’ll be leaving for further studies in the US, and can’t really pursue a career in music right now,” Jeno says regretfully.

“We promised our parents to focus on our studies after the competition,” Chenle chimes in, and Sungchan and Jisung nod, looking bummed.

“Well... that’s okay!” the interviewer says brightly. “I think the company is willing to sign you guys even if it’s not the whole band.”

Renjun exchanges a glance with Donghyuck, and Donghyuck can see the familiar glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“Moving on... let’s talk about your winning song, _I Like You_. It was unanimously awarded full marks in the categories of creativity and originality by the panel of judges. I heard that you composed it yourself?”

Jaemin grins proudly, looping an arm around Renjun’s shoulder. “Yes, I composed the melody and Renjun wrote the lyrics.”

The interviewer nods and jots it down, impressed. “May I ask if you had any particular inspiration, Renjun-sshi?”

Renjun hesitates for a moment, before his eyes soften and a shy blush dusts his cheeks.

“It’s about this guy...” he starts. “He’s rude and annoying and rough and embarrassing, and he likes to act cool. But inside, he’s a giant marshmallow. He’s too immature and soft-hearted for his own good, and he makes me worry. He’s my best friend, and I miss him.”

Donghyuck’s heart lurches as Renjun raises his eyes bravely, looking straight at him. Renjun’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, that old, unreadable look in them, but this time Donghyuck finally finds the word to describe it.

 _Adoring_.

As promised, the talent scouts approach them after the interview, and Donghyuck can’t wrap his head around how surreal this is, sitting on the sofa across from them as they propose their plans for Donghyuck and Renjun, throwing out professional-sounding terms like _debut and album and producer_.

The record company executives are understanding and sympathetic about the other five’s situation, but hope that they will consider the possibility of joining them after their respective further education. The three maknaes agree immediately and Jaemin pouts like a puppy until Jeno gives in, promising to return to Korea in the future to record an album as Dream.

“What do you guys want to call your unit?” the scout asks, and Donghyuck meets Renjun’s eyes across the rest of them, smiling as Renjun answers confidently without hesitation, “Renhyuck.”

“I still can’t believe you said that on national TV,” Donghyuck mumbles later, when they are walking back home, still reeling with adrenaline from the post-performance high, feeling strangely discombobulated in the quiet, peaceful night. Donghyuck feels bad for being relieved that they are finally alone, but he’s been waiting all day for Renjun’s gaze to be focused unwaveringly on him like this.

In the moonlight, Renjun’s eyes seem to glitter with possibility, making Donghyuck’s heart miss a traitorous beat. He doesn’t say anything, so Donghyuck ploughs on foolishly to fill the awkward silence. “It might be our first interview on TV. What if people misunderstand?”

Renjun’s smile flickers, and Donghyuck wants to punch himself for his stupidity. But then Renjun looks at him seriously.

“Misunderstand what? That I like you?”

The words hang in the air between them, bold and immense, impossible to take back. Renjun is staring defiantly at him, looking like his heart is one word away from breaking, and Donghyuck stops in his tracks, his world tilting on its axis.

“You... like me?” he croaks.

“About time you got it into your thick skull,” Renjun retorts, voice rough, but tears spill from his eyes, and Donghyuck doesn’t have the time to think before he cradles the nape of Renjun’s neck with shaking fingers and bends to press his lips against Renjun’s.

Renjun’s lips are soft and plush and impossibly warm, and fireworks explode behind Donghyuck’s eyelids as Renjun opens his mouth and runs his tongue along the seam of Donghyuck’s lips tentatively, parting them. Renjun brushes his tongue searchingly against Donghyuck’s and then Donghyuck is panting against his mouth, the kiss deepening, turning hot and wet, intense and shaking. Donghyuck kisses Renjun until he’s gasping for air, his knees giving in and catches Renjun with strong arms when he melts boneless and limp against him.

Donghyuck thinks he wouldn’t have hesitated to fuck Renjun right there, on the road, in front of their houses, if Renjun hadn’t had the sanity to stop him. “Enough for tonight,” he breathes against Donghyuck’s lips urgently, pushing him away weakly as Donghyuck clamps his mouth stubbornly over his like a horny teenager.

“Enough!” Renjun finally bursts out sternly, shoving Donghyuck away and staggering back, but his lips are swollen and sinfully red, his eyes unconvincingly dazed.

Donghyuck just looks at him, smirking roguishly and running his tongue over the corner of his lip where Renjun had bitten it, until Renjun drops his gaze and blushes.

Somehow, Donghyuck manages to stumble back to his room, head spinning dizzyingly over today’s events. Winning the competition; reconciling with Renjun; realizing that Renjun likes him.

That he likes Renjun.

Donghyuck knows that today is a day he will never forget, as long as he lives. Even if there are happier days ahead – like (maybe, just maybe) becoming singers with Renjun; reuniting with Dream; proposing to Renjun; their wedding day; adopting kids – Donghyuck knows with an unaccountable certainty that no joy will ever feel as unadulterated as this.

The darkness outside his window illuminates suddenly, startling him out of his reverie. Donghyuck feels an irresistible smile spreading across his face as he gets out of bed and crosses the room to peer out of his window. Renjun’s curtains are drawn, but his light flickers on and off a few more times. _Go to bed, pabo_.

Donghyuck laughs softly and reaches for his own light switch. _You first_.

There is a pause, and he hears a muffled groan. Donghyuck knows exactly what Renjun is thinking: that they have become one of those insufferable idiot couples, whispering sweet nothings to each other and refusing to be the first to hang up until morning.

 _Good night_ , Renjun signs, and Donghyuck blurts out loudly, “Junnie!” He claps a hand over his mouth, and Renjun’s light remains expectantly on.

Donghyuck takes a deep, bracing breath, his palms clammy as he shakily flicks the switch on and off, spelling out the title of the song Renjun wrote about him. It’s the closest Donghyuck will ever come to admitting that maybe, just maybe, he is madly, ridiculously, head over heels in love with Renjun.

There is an endless, nerve-wracking silence as Renjun’s light stays on. Then there is a clatter and Donghyuck looks up, his eyes widening to find Renjun falling headfirst through his window, limbs flailing as he tackles Donghyuck and knocks him off his feet in a breathless hug.

Donghyuck finds himself pinned beneath Renjun on the floor as Renjun gazes down at him with such raw, naked tenderness in his eyes that Donghyuck squeezes his own shut, unable to look.

“So,” Renjun says conversationally, and when Donghyuck peeks through his eyelashes he’s blinded again by Renjun’s mischievous smile because it’s like the fucking sun in his bedroom in the middle of the night. “Remember I said that we should stop? I kinda changed my –”

Donghyuck steals the rest of the sentence from his mouth, and Renjun doesn’t go back to his room for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much if you took the time to read till the end! fun fact there’s actually a side story for this, which would technically be for the side pairing renhyuck. i hope you got some reading pleasure from this and do drop me a kudos if you did, they make me :D i’ve been wanting to get back into writing this pairing and the comments i’ve received on my previous nomin fics are the biggest reason, so i just want to express my immense gratitude if you’ve read more than one of my fics for them.
> 
> stream make a wish!


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